


monstrous flames

by peternureyev



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fire, Fëanor is insane, Gen, Sad, amrod is dead, and amras is lonely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 03:37:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3513872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peternureyev/pseuds/peternureyev
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"then he awakes, and is amrod no longer"</p><p>amras dreams of his lost twin</p>
            </blockquote>





	monstrous flames

Sometimes Amras dreams he is his brother.

He is surrounded by flames, scorching, burning up his skin, setting alight his russet locks. It licks up his legs, encircles his arms. He cannot breathe, his parched throat gasping for air.

He looks around wildly as the fire eats up the white sail and the polished wood, devouring the most beautiful ships ever created. The water is red with monstrous flames, shrieking and roaring and laughing.

Through the flames he sees his father.

Then he awakes, and is Amrod no longer.

But the memory remains, and many a time has he thrown up, vomiting the little food in his stomach onto the cold, hard ground. His heart is stuck in his mouth, and he retches over and over again, a grip taking hold of his soul and squeezing him.

Because the horrible, nauseating dream was reality for his twin.

 

Amras cannot smile any longer. The once laughing, happy youngster is transformed into a quivering, silent wreck. Whenever he looks in a mirror he sees Amrod staring back at him, sadly smiling, the green eyes scrutinising him. Amras lightly touches the glass, and his twin does the same. Then it all shatters, just a reflection, just a reflection, nothing more.

 

He doesn't  know how to live without the constant presence at his shoulder, defending his arm. They had fought together, lived together, smiled together. Brothers in every sense of the word, comrades in arms, in blood, in eternal friendship that could never be broken. Except now those bonds had been broken, one twin swept away in a flood of flames and tears, the other left alone, uncertain and grieving.

Half his soul has been ripped away. Amras knew it that fateful day he woke up at dawn, his twin gone, cold cloak on the floor, and the smouldering wrecks of a dozen ships on the shore. There had been an emptiness in his chest, a cold area that seemed so wrong, so barren and bare.

So wrong.

 

No one would look him in the eyes any more. He didn't know if that was because they felt sorry for him, or whether they felt guilty for the awful part they had played in the burning of the ships and the burning of his brother. Some walked past without even acknowledging him, their eyes downcast, hands clenched into fists.

They didn't even speak of Amrod anymore. His father, Fëanor (it was unbearable to utter the word adar) had banned it. Not in speech, of course, but when they saw the fiery look in his eyes, most stepped back.

 

Amras hated to admit it to himself, but he was so scared of Fëanor. The image of him looking through the flames in his nightmare haunted his every living moment. There was something destroying the gifted elf and Amras knew what it was.

The Silmarils. The allure of those precious gems had corrupted the minds of Fëanor and all his sons. Even Amras himself felt a flicker of anger in his heart at the mention of them.

Why he had sworn the oath, he knew not. The hour had been late, he had been high spirited and reckless. Not to mention the rest if his family had sworn. He and Amrod had stood together and drawn their swords, challenging the sky, the Valar, Iluvatar himself. A dangerous, deadly path for two so young, people had said, shaking their heads.

 

The only one willing to talk with him was Maedhros. His eldest brother was mourning too, he had lost his closest friend. Fingon was left across the sea, stranded with no ships.

They would sit close together and look up at the stars, tiny orbs of glistening light, weaving constellations and shapes in the heavens. Elves had always loved the stars and for Amras and Maedhros, they felt like home, a little tie to the city of Tirion upon Túna. Under the light of the stars and the new born moon the brothers would sit, wishing they could return.

_Do you think he's at home now? Do you think he's happy?_

_Yes, Pityo. He's watching us and smiling, laughing at our foolishness._

But even Maedhros's kind words could not make Amras smile. He could not dispel the image of Amrod writhing in agony, the flames licking at his tunic and scorching away his red hair. His heart yearned for his brother.

_Truly, Telvo, if you are watching, give me a sign. Please,_ hanno.

 

But Amrod gave no sign and Amras suffered in silence. When they moved on, delving deeper into Middle Earth, he still did not return to his former vigour and happiness. It was impossible for him.

 

Once, in a fit of depression and desperation, he tried to fling himself off a icy cliff, cast himself into the frozen sea beneath, let himself die. But he felt a hand on his back, and Maedhros was there, looking at him pitifully, a sad smile plastered on his face. Amras wanted to scream and cry, his plan had been thwarted.

He allowed Maedhros to pull him back from the brink, but still, all he could think was that how could he live while his twin brother, his other half, was dead?

 

And that thought haunted him for hundreds of years, to the very end of his life, when he fell, sword lost, surrounded by thousands of enemies. And as the blows took him in the back, in the neck, in the chest, for the first time in so many years, Amras smiled.

 

_Soon, brother. Very soon._

**Author's Note:**

> check me out on tumblr eveningisgrey.tumblr.com


End file.
